


Younger Now Than We Were Before

by enigmaticblue



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Bruce Banner, Bruce Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Steve Rogers Feels, Time Travel, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce can’t allow Steve’s anguished expression to move him. “Don’t you think there are things we’d want to change, too?” he demands. (Or the one where Steve, Bruce, and Tony travel to the past and discover some interesting things about themselves and each other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Younger Now Than We Were Before

**Author's Note:**

> A few things: this fic is set somewhere in the nebulous time between the fall of SHIELD and Avengers: Age of Ultron, but I’m ignoring anything in AoU that doesn’t fit with this fic. This story is brought to you by several IM conversations thomasina75 and I had while watching Agent Carter. I have tried to make it as plausible as possible without fudging too much. Finally, this fills the February hc_bingo challenge for the following four prompts: “forced to rely on enemy/rival,” “nausea,” “comfort food or item/feeding someone,” and “WILD CARD (grief)”
> 
> If slash isn't your thing, this fic is way more pre-slash/friendship for Tony and Bruce.

**Part I**

 

Peggy takes a sip of the whiskey and watches Howard carefully. SHIELD headquarters is deserted this time of night, and the only light is the desk lamp, set low, its position throwing his face into stark relief.

 

Age has carved new lines on his face, and he has dark circles under his eyes. She’s known that not all was well with him for some time now, and she can make a guess as to the reason.

 

“How are you, Howard?” she asks.

 

“I think you know the answer to that,” he replies. “How long have we known each other, Peg?”

 

She smiles. “Thirty years, give or take a year or two. Does this have anything to do with Maria?”

 

He sighs. “She lost another one.”

 

Peggy supposes that, ordinarily, such a matter would not be discussed in mixed company, but she and Howard have never stood on ceremony.

 

“You could adopt,” she points out. “If Maria can’t carry a child to term, that would be the logical step.”

 

Howard looks at her blearily. She’s been pacing herself; he hasn’t, and it shows. “And what if it gets out? We’d have relatives coming out of the woodwork, demanding a piece of the pie, and I can’t have that. It’s not just about protecting my company; there are security issues, too.”

 

Peggy considers the implications of Howard’s words. If he doesn’t have an heir, Obadiah Stane will likely gain full control of Stark Industries, and all its weapons-building power.

 

She’s never cared for Stane, although she’s never said as much to Howard. She doesn’t trust him, but she has nothing solid to base that on, and Peggy knows Howard relies on Stane to help run the business side of SI, while Howard focuses on R&D and, of course, running SHIELD.

 

Then again, it’s possible that _Howard_ doesn’t fully trust Stane either, since he’s never told Stane about his role in SHIELD.

 

And Howard is correct—should he and Maria adopt a child, there is always the possibility that someone will find out and leak the news to the press, and then there _will_ be those who try to take advantage of the situation. Howard could be paying people off for decades to come, and she suspects that kidnapping attempts would increase even more.

 

“Clearly, you need to procure a child from a trustworthy source,” Peggy says, musing aloud. “Someone who won’t present a threat, and has impeccable credentials.”

 

Howard perks up a bit at that. “Someone who has already shown they can carry a baby to term.”

 

“Well, that’s no guarantee of success, but it may improve the odds,” Peggy agrees.

 

And now she sees the expression on his face, and she _knows_ that look, and it almost always leads to her doing something that she would never have done otherwise.

 

“What are you thinking?” she asks cautiously.

 

“You have two kids,” Howard points out drunkenly. “I trust you. I trust you with _everything_.”

 

Peggy frowns. “I’m not sleeping with you, Howard. I told you that a long time ago.”

 

“There are other ways, ways that improve the chances of you successfully getting pregnant,” Howard replies, starting to talk faster, in that way he does when he’s excited by a possibility. “You still can have children, right?”

 

Peggy takes another sip. “I can, not that it’s any of your business.” She’s honestly expecting to go into menopause any day now, but her periods are regular as clockwork, and just as annoying.

 

“No, this is perfect!” Howard replies. “I know you aren’t going to come after my fortune, or blackmail me. You’ve had two kids. You could do this.”

 

Peggy has no idea what to say to that. “Howard…”

 

“Think about it, okay?” Howard asks. “I know what I’m asking, and I know it’s a big deal, but I don’t have anybody else I can ask, Peg.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Peggy agrees. “I’ll have to talk to my husband and children about this. You know that.”

 

“I do,” Howard agrees. “Just—think about it. You’d be guaranteeing SHIELD and Stark Industries’ future.”

 

And that’s what Peggy keeps mulling over for the next week or so. Howard isn’t overstating things; as one of the founders of SHIELD and the head of a multi-billion dollar, international company that builds weapons, he holds a great deal of power.

 

If she does this, it will give her just a little bit of leverage, of influence, over the next generation of Starks. She believes her influence over Howard has helped him to become the man he is, a man she’s proud to call her friend.

 

So, she discusses it with Daniel, because if he doesn’t agree, there’s no moving ahead.

 

“Let me get this straight,” he says around a mouthful of toothpaste. “You aren’t proposing to sleep with him.”

 

“Oh, God, no,” Peggy replies immediately. “They’ve been using artificial insemination for a good long while now.”

 

He gives her a look. “And you’re going to be okay with handing your child over to someone else?”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t do it for just anybody,” Peggy replies. “And I think I’d rather prefer not to go through the infant days again. Two children are quite enough for me.”

 

“Do you believe it’s necessary? And how will you explain it?” Daniel asks.

 

Peggy has been thinking about that. “I should be able to hide the pregnancy for the first two trimesters. After that, I may have to develop an illness, or perhaps take an extended leave of absence.”

 

He hums. “And is it necessary?”

 

“How do you feel about Stark Industries falling under the sway of Obadiah Stane?” Peggy counters.

 

Daniel grimaces. “Like you, I don’t care for Stane, and I agree that it would be in the world’s best interests to not allow him to have free rein. But why should it fall on you? Why not some other SHIELD agent?”

 

Peggy raises an eyebrow. “Can you name another SHIELD agent that Howard trusts?”

 

“Fair point,” he agrees, and he gives her that look that made her fall in love with him, the look that says he’d follow her to hell and back. “You have my support, as always. If you believe this needs to be done, then I’ll support you.”

 

Peggy takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

 

She can’t quite believe she’s going through with this, but her gut tells her that it’s necessary.

 

**Forty-Seven Years Later**

 

Bruce surveys the warehouse-cum-laboratory with concern. “I’m not sure how we’re supposed to get through all of this.”

 

Tony claps him on the shoulder. “Come on, Brucie. There have to be some fun toys in here to play with.”

 

“Or some booby-traps that will kill us,” Bruce mutters.

 

“You’re so pessimistic,” Tony replies. “Look at the bright side.”

 

“Hydra has another chance to kill us?” Bruce says with an insincere smile.

 

“We have a chance to find more weapons to use against them,” Tony counters.

 

Bruce sighs. “I guess we’d better get started.”

 

Tony squeezes his shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on with you? I know you’re not Mr. Sunshine, but this is fairly doom and gloom, even for you.”

 

Bruce summons up a smile. “I’m just tired. It’s been a busy few months.”

 

Tony grimaces. “It has been. Look, when we’re done here, let’s take a few days. We’ll have a bro-cation, hit the beach or something for a few days, take a load off.”

 

Bruce is amused in spite of himself. “A ‘bro-cation,’ huh?”

 

“Yeah, just the two of us,” Tony says. “What do you say?”

 

Bruce really has no idea how to say no to Tony, and he’s pretty sure that’s going to bite him in the ass someday. Still, this doesn’t seem to be that day, since a vacation sounds pretty damn good. “Yeah, I’m in.”

 

“Great!” Tony says. “Let’s get through this so we can have a couple days off.”

 

“You said a few days a minute ago,” Bruce points out.

 

Tony shrugs. “Right you are. And I say we take as many days off as we can, but in our line of work…”

 

Bruce nods, knowing all too well how true that is. With their luck, any vacation would be cut short, no matter how long they plan to take off.

 

“Let’s start with the stuff that’s obviously inert and no threat,” Tony suggests. “That might make the task more manageable.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “Yeah, let’s start there.”

 

Dr. Henri Fouquet had been hired by SHIELD in 1946 as a researcher, having escaped prosecution by the Free French immediately after the Vichy government fell by fleeing to Switzerland. He convinced SHIELD that he had vital knowledge and tools that could put America ahead in the arms race, and SHIELD welcomed him with open arms.

 

The fear of communism was so great that the government had been willing to welcome Nazis and their sympathizers into the fold, and more than a few of them had been loyal to Hydra.

 

Fouquet was one of them, and his work for SHIELD had delivered some impressive toys. Bruce doesn’t really like to think about the things he might have given Hydra.

 

Some of the gadgets are clearly high-tech listening devices, or failed weapons experiments, detonators unattached to explosives, or other bits and pieces that seem to be works in progress. Dismissing those sorts of things on the first pass got rid of quite a few of the items.

 

Fouquet killed himself after the last Hydra base had been dismantled by the Avengers, which is what brought him to their attention. They’d found his body, and had searched his history, and found the warehouse he’d rented out.

 

Which brings them here, to this moment, and Bruce can’t help but think there’s something weird going on.

 

Hour six in their inventory, and they’re starting to run up against devices they can’t easily categorize.

 

“What do you think this is?” Tony asks.

 

It’s one of the larger items, and reminds Bruce a little of an old fashioned movie projector, attached to a large metal tank. “This might be a power source,” Bruce says, crouching down to view the wires. “But it’s not electrical.”

 

“Definitely not,” Tony agrees. “It’s—chemical maybe? I think it has its own internal power source.”

 

“What’s up, guys?” Steve asks, approaching them and the device. “What is this?”

 

The device lights up, almost as though it recognizes Steve’s voice. That’s the only thing that changes enough to explain its sudden activation.

 

“Oh, shit, this isn’t good,” Bruce says. “Back up!”

 

Not good is an understatement, because Bruce feels a sense of dislocation and nausea as he’s enveloped in bright blue light. He feels like he’s tumbling through space, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s in the same warehouse, but the light is different. There’s no longer a layer of dust, and Bruce staggers to his feet as quickly as he can.

 

“It worked!” a man cries, and he has a French accent and is wearing a collared shirt with a floral print and a pair of brown bell-bottom pants. He has a handlebar moustache and long hair.

 

Steve and Tony are still staggering, and Bruce doesn’t hesitate. He hits the guy with everything he has, dropping him with one punch to the jaw.

 

Bruce has seen pictures, and he knows this is a younger Henri Fouquet. He had apparently planned this, and was Hydra, which means Bruce has to keep him from doing anything else.

 

Anything that Hydra wants is probably bad news anyway, and Bruce needs time to think.

 

“What was that for?” Steve asks, straightening slowly, still looking a little green.

 

Tony is still on his knees, retching helplessly, and Bruce drops down next to him, putting a hand on Tony’s back. “We need to get out of here,” he says. “Can you walk?”

 

Tony dry heaves in response, and Bruce rubs his back, figuring that Steve can haul his dead weight if necessary. “Okay, let’s get out of here. We need to leave before Fouquet wakes up.”

 

“What the hell?” Steve demands. “Banner!”

 

Bruce looks at him. “That guy is Fouquet, just about four decades younger. I can’t be sure of the year, but it looks like we’ve traveled back in time.”

 

“Late sixties, early seventies, judging by the clothes,” Tony manages, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And Bruce is right.”

 

“Why can’t we stay here?” Steve asks.

 

“Because right now, he’s not entirely sure what he did, just that his device brought people here,” Bruce says. “And it’s absolutely imperative that he doesn’t know _who_ he brought here, and that he never knows.”

 

“Why?” Steve demands.

 

Bruce takes a deep breath. Until now, he’s been operating on instinct, but he forces himself to put those instincts into words. “He wanted to create a time machine, and I’m pretty sure he coded it to your voice, which means you were the target. I don’t think he saw you, but we can’t take the risk.”

 

“What risk?” Steve asks.

 

“What do you think?” Tony demands. “What reason would he have to pull you into the past, or someone like you? To change the future!”

 

Bruce holds up a hand. “I think we can agree that someone who’s from Hydra is _not_ someone we want to cater to, which means we need to get out of here and get to cover. We can talk more about it then.”

 

“He’s going to have to change if we want to escape notice,” Tony mutters.

 

Steve is still in his uniform, and Bruce rubs his eyes. They don’t have any other clothes, and they need to leave. Realistically, they need to rent a place, which means figuring out how they’re going to pay for it, along with food, other clothing, everything a person needs while on the run.

 

Which they sort of are at this point.

 

Bruce pulls out his wallet, goes through it, then through the hidden pockets in his shirt and pants. He’d been running for a long time, and he still hasn’t shed all of the habits. He tends to keep a few hundred on him at all times, in old, well-worn, non-sequential bills.

 

Thank god, his cash on hand isn’t the new, more secure bills that had recently come out.

 

“Do you have cash?” he asks Tony.

 

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t have anything on me. I rarely do.”

 

“Steve?” Bruce asks.

 

Steve shakes his head. “No, sorry.”

 

Forty years ago, money went further, and Bruce hopes what he has is enough to get the three of them by, at least until they can find a way to make more.

 

“Okay, I have enough for now,” Bruce says. “But we need to move. We can talk more once we’re secure.”

 

The drumbeat of caution has him moving, and getting the others to move. Steve’s uniform is unmistakable, but the warehouse is in Los Angeles, nestled among other warehouses, and it’s late enough in the day that there aren’t many people around.

 

The closest warehouse to Fouquet’s is filled with boxes without any indication of what’s in them, and Bruce motions for Steve to bust the lock on the door while he supports Tony, who’s still a little shaky.

 

Steve forces the door open easily, and then helps Bruce haul Tony inside. Bruce quickly looks around for an alarm system, but he doesn’t see signs of one.

 

“Okay, you need clothes, and we need a place to lie low,” Bruce says. “I’m going to go find both.”

 

Steve frowns. “Alone?”

 

“You _can’t_ go out in your uniform, and Tony’s in no shape to be running around,” Bruce says logically. “Also, I’m the one with the best shot at blending in right now.”

 

Bruce has never been the height of fashion, and right now that’s paying off, because Tony’s cargo pants and faded AC/DC t-shirt sets him apart. Bruce, on the other hand, is wearing chinos and a blue button-down, which wouldn’t be terribly out of place at any point in time in the last forty years.

 

Plus, he’s wearing his hair a little longer these days, and that will help, too.

 

Steve nods reluctantly. “Okay, I guess you have a point.”

 

“Look, you guys stay here,” Bruce says. “Cell phones haven’t exactly been invented yet, so if you take off, it’s going to be impossible to find you.”

 

“Maybe we should set up a meeting site just in case,” Tony suggests. He’s sitting with his back against a box, still looking more than a little green around the gills.

 

Bruce nods, and after some debate, they decide on a location, a time and a date: Union Station, the following day, 5 pm. Bruce peels off a couple of twenty dollar bills from his stash and hands them to Steve.

 

“If somebody asks you, you’re going to a costume party,” Bruce instructs. “If I don’t show—well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

 

“Be careful,” Tony says.

 

Bruce nods. “Of course.”

 

And with that, he sets off.

 

~~~~~

 

Steve sits down next to Tony. “Are you feeling any better?”

 

“Not appreciably,” Tony replies, swallowing against the nausea. “I don’t know why I’m sick.”

 

“Side effect of time travel?” Steve asks.

 

Tony shakes his head. “Maybe. I don’t know anybody who’s traveled back in time, so I couldn’t say one way or another.”

 

Tony wishes that Bruce hadn’t been the one to leave. If he’d been with Bruce, he would have had things to talk about; he and Steve really don’t have anything in common, and they often tangle over leadership of the team.

 

“Do you think you can replicate the device?” Steve asks.

 

Tony sighs. “Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t really get to spend much time with it. I could probably duplicate the design if I had a little more time and access to my workshop and the right materials.”

 

“What if we went back there?” Steve asks. “You could study it.”

 

Tony snorts. “Except that Bruce was right, and we can’t risk being seen by Fouquet. He can’t know that he succeeded.”

 

“He already knows that he succeeded,” Steve objects.

 

“But he doesn’t know how _well_ he succeeded,” Tony replies. “Look, I get it. You hate being stuck here, but this guy was—is Hydra.”

 

Steve makes a dissatisfied sound. “But if you can’t figure out how to get us back—”

 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Tony says. “I can figure it out. Between Bruce and I, we’ve got plenty more brains than Fouquet.”

 

His stomach roils, and Tony swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, wishing he could brush his teeth, or use some mouthwash. The taste of bile isn’t helping his stomach settle.

 

“How long do you think it’s going to take?” Steve asks.

 

“How the hell should I know?” Tony asks. “It will take as long as it takes.” He tips his head back, trying not to think too hard about the possibilities. There are a lot of unknowns in this equation.

 

Steve sighs. “If we don’t know how long we’re going to be here, then what are we going to do about money?”

 

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Tony replies.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“We’re with Bruce,” Tony says. “He’s been on the run before, and he’s good at surviving.”

 

Steve is quiet. “I feel like you two would be better off without me here.”

 

Tony is too tired and feels too shitty to lie. “Maybe so, but chances are we wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.”

 

“Oh, gee, thanks,” Steve says sarcastically.

 

“Truth hurts, Cap,” Tony replies ruthlessly. “But who knows? Maybe it was always going to happen this way. Maybe we had to come back to the past. Time is tricky.”

 

He drifts off to sleep after that, and it never even occurs to him that he’s trusting Steve to keep watch and keep them both safe.

 

~~~~~

 

Steve wants badly to go back to Fouquet’s workshop, but he can’t leave Tony alone and unguarded, not when Tony is such bad shape.

 

He can’t quite wrap his mind around why they can’t just go after Fouquet, but he knows Tony and Bruce are both geniuses, and Steve is a little out of his depth. He’s a man out of time twice over, and Steve may have studied the intervening years between being frozen and revived, but he doesn’t know _enough_.

 

It’s late, and Tony is sleeping restlessly while Steve paces, when the door opens and Bruce slips inside.

 

Bruce looks tired and a little harried, but he has a few bags, and greets Steve with a smile. “I found us a place, and I got clothes. We’ll need to find a way to make more money soon, and a way to get supplies, but—”

 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Steve replies, instinctively reassuring Bruce.

 

Bruce frowns. “Yeah, well, let’s hope that I don’t transform while we’re here. That’s going to really fuck shit up.”

 

Steve grimaces, thinking of that possibility as Bruce starts pulling clothes out of the bag. “You’d better change. I’m going to wake Tony up and get him into something more suitable. There’s food in this bag.”

 

Steve quickly shucks out of his uniform and pulls on the clothing Bruce had procured. It’s not as bad as Steve had expected—a white t-shirt with blue collar and sleeves and a pair of jeans that flare at the bottom. There’s also a pair of gray sneakers and an Army surplus jacket.

 

He pulls them on and starts scoffing the cheap burger in the other bag.

 

For the first time, Steve realizes that Bruce has also picked up a jacket that looks vaguely aged, and he’s chivvying Tony into something similar to what Steve is wearing.

 

“What are we? A baseball team?” Tony snarks.

 

“Shut up,” Bruce orders. “We’re trying to fly under the radar, asshole.”

 

And that’s how Steve knows Bruce is freaked out. He rarely calls Tony names, and is more patient with him than the rest of the team combined, and that means—

 

Steve’s brain stutters to a halt. He doesn’t want to think about what that means.

 

Tony shuts up. “Sorry.”

 

Bruce sighs. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But we really do need to get moving.”

 

Once moving, Tony seems to feel a little better, and Bruce leads them to a rundown apartment building about a mile away. There’s a man passed out in the lobby, and it’s filthy, but Steve doesn’t say anything. He knows they don’t have unlimited funds, and Tony had a point earlier.

 

Bruce had been on the run for years, and he had stayed alive with limited funds in strange corners of the world. Steve could do worse than to trust Bruce to keep them in one piece.

 

“It’s not much,” Bruce warns as he unlocks the door to 3B. “I had to get most of our supplies at the surplus store. There was a couch and a chair here already, but that’s about it.”

 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Tony says soothingly. “We appreciate it, Big Guy.”

 

The place is a mess, with smoke-stained walls, dirty floors, cobwebs in the corners, and what looks like mold on the ceiling. The couch is a shade of green Steve doesn’t have a name for, and the couch is a stained, chintz affair that’s an eyesore.

 

It’s a single room with a tiny kitchenette and a bathroom, and other than that, Steve thinks it’s probably worse than the place he’d shared with his mom before she died.

 

At least their place had been clean; he and his mom had seen to that.

 

“We can clean it up,” Steve says. “No problem. It’s not so bad.”

 

“I bought sleeping bags,” Bruce says, sounding a little desperate. “They’re not much, but—”

 

“Bruce, buddy, it’s fine, you did the best you could,” Tony says soothingly. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to get horizontal.”

 

Bruce nods. “Couch or sleeping bag?”

 

“Sleeping bag,” Tony replies, looking at the couch in distaste.

 

“Maybe the sleeping bag on top of the cushions,” Steve suggests. “You’ll be more comfortable like that.”

 

Tony grimaces. “I’d really like to brush my teeth.”

 

“Of course,” Bruce says immediately. “I got some basic toiletries.”

 

Steve busies himself pulling the cushions off the couch and unrolling one of the sleeping bags on top. He takes his time with the other two, knowing that there’s nothing he can do to make it more comfortable for him and Bruce, but agreeing that Tony should have the most comfortable spot.

 

He sets up the other two sleeping bags in close proximity to Tony’s pallet, and then wanders over to the window. The streetlight is bright, shining right through the dirty glass, and Steve wonders if there’s anything they can use to block out the light.

 

Los Angeles from this angle is rather depressing, and nothing like what Steve has become used to—although it reminds him a bit of his old stomping grounds in Brooklyn, back before the war.

 

Bruce and Tony emerge from the bathroom, and while Tony’s moving under his own speed, he’s clutching his abdomen like he has stomach cramps.

 

“There are toiletries on the counter,” Bruce tells him, and Steve knows a dismissal when he hears it.

 

He stops in the bathroom door to look over his shoulder, and watches as Bruce crouches next to Tony. Steve can’t hear what they’re saying, but from Tony’s brief smile, it’s affectionate, companionable, and Steve feels a stab of longing and isolation.

 

Steve gets along fairly well with everybody on the team, but if there were a worst combination of three in the team, it would be him, Tony, and Bruce. Tony and Bruce are close, and work together daily, and speak the same language. Steve has a complicated history with each of them, or at least with their pasts.

 

He misses Bucky and Peggy, and the Howling Commandos, people who were just as connected to him as Tony and Bruce are to each other.

 

And then it hits him like a fist to the gut—Peggy is alive, and she doesn’t have dementia, and Steve could actually talk to her.

 

Steve could have closure, and he has no idea what to do about that, or whether he should even say anything.

 

No, he thinks. There might be an opportunity to talk to Peggy, and he might have to take that opportunity, no matter what Bruce and Tony think.

 

**Part II**

 

Peggy glances through the sheaf of applications. For a secret government agency, there are a lot of people interested in positions as scientists in research and development.

 

One of the applications stands out—a physicist who has experience with biochemistry and engineering.

 

She puts a hand on her swollen abdomen, which is so far hidden under loose clothing, and Peggy is grateful for the change in fashion between this child and her first two. She’d begun showing in her fourth month, in a way that couldn’t be disguised then—not without advertising the fact that she was pregnant in the first place.

 

Now, she thinks she might be able to hide her pregnancy until the third trimester, maybe right up until she gives birth, at least with clever tailoring.

 

“Send in Dr. Roberts,” she says over the intercom.

 

His CV is impressive, his list of accomplishments and degrees long, and his references are impeccable. There is, however, the small matter of a gap in his job history of about six years or so.

 

Dr. Bruce Roberts is an unimposing man of average height with dark, curly hair and a diffident manner, who looks to be about her age.

 

“Dr. Roberts,” Peggy says with a smile, holding out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“The pleasure is mine, Agent Carter.” He takes the seat she motions to, and sits stiffly, with his hands resting on his knees. “Thank you for agreeing to interview me.”

 

She smiles. “We’ve found ourselves shorthanded recently. I was wondering what made you decide to apply at SHIELD.”

 

“It was either SHIELD or Stark Industries, and I’m not sure I’d want to find out what SI would do with a nuclear physicist,” he replies with a pleasant smile. “But SHIELD is on the cutting edge of research, and that’s what I’m looking for.”

 

Peggy nods. “You have a bit of a gap in your employment history.”

 

He hesitates. “I—had a bad break up, and I decided to see the world. I spent some time in India, and in South America. I did a little doctoring, and when I felt like I had my head on straight again, I came back.”

 

Peggy is used to slightly eccentric behavior from SHIELD’s geniuses, and traveling the world after a bad breakup barely registers on the scale. “You don’t feel like you’re rusty?”

 

Dr. Roberts shakes his head. “I’m confident in my ability to catch up, and to make new breakthroughs. I’m ready to get back into the lab.”

 

She smiles. “Well, I’ll walk you to the next interviewer. They’ll ask you more technical questions.”

 

“Of course, thank you for your time, ma’am,” he says.

 

Peggy frowns. “Oh, please, now you’re making me feel old.”

 

A smile tilts the corners of his mouth. “You don’t look a day over thirty.”

 

Peggy smiles. “That’s patently untrue, but still kind of you to say. Good luck, Dr. Roberts.”

 

And she actually means it.

 

~~~~~

 

In 1969, things are relatively low-tech, which is both a good and a bad thing as far as constructing new identities. Good, because there aren’t the same security measures, and bad because Bruce doesn’t have the same tools.

 

But he’s crossed borders before, and he’s constructed new identities. Tony’s in no shape to help, and Steve doesn’t have the know-how, which means Bruce has to figure things out for all three of them.

 

If they’re going to successfully replicate Fouquet’s experiment and get back to their own time, Bruce is going to need access to a lab and cutting edge technology. And that means either Stark Industries or SHIELD, and SHIELD is probably the better, safer choice.

 

At Stark Industries, he’ll be put to work making bombs; at SHIELD, he’s likely to have more options.

 

But getting a job at SHIELD also means creating an identity, a past, references, the whole nine yards. Some of that is done by finding the social security number of a dead person and taking it on, but he also calls Cal Tech and starts talking to the professors, telling careful lies.

 

He finds a professor who had died in the last few years who might be a natural choice as a mentor in Bruce’s field, and he calls potential colleagues, planting the seeds.

 

Bruce does as much research as he can in libraries, finding academic journals, and thanking his lucky stars, or whatever else, that Dr. Theodore Hauptman had died a couple of years ago, and he had a credited research assistant named B. Roberts.

 

The timing is right, and he calls Hauptman’s colleagues, explaining that he’s been out of the country for some time, and is looking to get back into the research game. They only vaguely recall B. Roberts, but seem to remember Hauptman thinking fondly of him.

 

“I’m applying to a research facility in a small role,” Bruce says. “Just to get my feet wet again. Will you give me a reference?”

 

And a few of them agree, as they remember Hauptman’s fond statements about the young Roberts, and are happy to give his protégé a leg up, and don’t even consider the fact that Bruce might not be the man they vaguely remember.

 

From there, it’s easy to send in his CV, because only those who know about SHIELD would apply, and Tony and Steve know enough to make it look like Bruce has the inside scoop.

 

During this period of time, Steve has mostly been working on the docks, shifting cargo, which doesn’t require much in the way of documentation, and his strength makes him an attractive prospect.

 

And Tony—Tony isn’t getting better.

 

“It’s a paradox,” Tony says, curled up on his side, arm around his middle.

 

Bruce found three second-hand mattresses last week, to replace the couch cushion/sleeping bag and give Tony somewhere a little more comfortable to sleep. “What’s a paradox?” he asks, sprawled on his own mattress, waiting for Steve to get back so they can eat.

 

“Me, being here,” Tony replies. “I think I’ve figured it out. You’re not the same person you were in 1969, so it’s not affecting you, and Steve is frozen, plus he has the serum. Me? I’m the same person, and somewhere out there, my mom is pregnant with me. There are two of me in the world, and it’s a paradox. It’s not supposed to happen like that.”

 

Bruce grimaces. “Then it’s just going to get worse as time goes on.”

 

“Probably,” Tony says fatalistically. “If we can’t get out of here.”

 

“Anything sound good to eat?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony grimaces. “Not really.”

 

“I’ll make something that’s easy on your stomach,” Bruce promises. “I make a mean chicken soup.”

 

Tony manages a wan smile. “I’ll give it a shot.”

 

Bruce doesn’t say that he needs to eat, even though Tony’s looking a little gaunt after a couple of weeks of being unable to keep much down. He figures Tony knows that, and being sick and stuck inside isn’t making him happy.

 

Being stuck inside with Steve whenever Steve can’t pick up a shift isn’t helping matters either.

 

“Tell me about the interview with Peggy Carter,” Tony says.

 

Bruce shrugs. “She was nice, and I think that part went well, although it was fairly brief. Did you know her?”

 

“She used to come around when I was younger,” Tony replies. “I think she might have had something of a falling out with my mom or dad, or maybe both, not sure. I never saw her after I was seven or eight, although she did attend my parents’ funeral.”

 

Bruce wonders about that, wonders what might have changed when Tony was a kid, because everything he knows about Peggy Carter says she’s a strong woman with strong opinions who wouldn’t necessarily allow a small disagreement to stand in the way of a longstanding friendship.

 

Steve comes in, a couple of bags of groceries hanging from his hands. “Hey,” he says wearily. “Sorry I’m late.”

 

Bruce glances at his watch and realizes that it’s after seven. “Did you pick up a double?”

 

“Seemed like the thing to do,” Steve says. “At least until you start working.”

 

Tony struggles to sit up. “What are you saying?”

 

“I’m not saying anything,” Steve replies, and Bruce can tell that he’s too tired to start a fight. “I told you, we’re in this together, Tony.”

 

Tony scrubs his hands over his face. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just—”

 

“No one’s at their best when they’ve been sick for a couple of weeks,” Steve replies, putting the bags down and starting to unload the groceries.

 

Bruce pulls out a soup pot and grabs the supplies he needs to start making chicken noodle soup, otherwise known as Jewish penicillin, and he’s hoping it will tempt Tony enough to eat a bowl.

 

Or a few bites. Bruce would settle for that.

 

Without asking, Steve puts the rest of the groceries away, and starts chopping the vegetables. In the last couple of weeks, they’ve attained a rhythm in the kitchen, even if Tony seldom eats.

 

The options are a lot more limited now than they were in 2013 New York. Bruce is certain that there are places in Los Angeles that cater to more eclectic and exotic tastes, but the closest grocery stores to them stock the basics and nothing more.

 

At the moment, that means Bruce starts the water boiling for the chicken, which he breaks down with practiced motions. He throws in salt, pepper, a couple of bay leaves, and some dried herbs.

 

Bruce keeps things bland for Tony’s sake, and once the chicken is cooked through, he fishes it out, throws in the veggies and egg noodles, and then shreds the meat.

 

Tony actually drifts into the kitchen, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Hey, that actually smells good.”

 

“Good,” Bruce replies. “Maybe you’ll eat more than a couple of bites.”

 

“I’ll try,” Tony promises.

 

They don’t have a table or chairs, so they eat their soup standing around the kitchen, and Tony actually manages a full bowl. “This was really good.”

 

Bruce feels a sense of relief. “Yeah?” Personally, he’d thought it fairly bland, but Steve eats two bowls, and Tony keeps down one, and Bruce thinks that’s about the best compliment he can get.

 

“You should get some sleep,” Bruce says to Tony, relieving him of his empty bowl. “It’s the best thing for you.”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for dinner.”

 

“Of course,” Bruce replies.

 

Steve goes to bed soon after as well, whether because he’s tired—which doesn’t seem possible—or because he wants to seek out the oblivion that sleep offers.

 

Bruce waits until they’re both asleep, and then he slips out, needing a walk to clear his head, too restless to try to sleep now. He’s still trying to figure out how to get them back to their own time, and it’s even more important now, because he thinks Tony is right.

 

And that means Tony is just going to get worse as time goes on.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony hates being out of commission, and he hates feeling like shit all the time. Steve has become a hot commodity at the docks, and he’s working at least one shift every day, and sometimes two, enough to keep the roof over their heads and food on the table, at least while Bruce gets established at SHIELD.

 

He’s tired of waiting around, though. Tony figures he can sneak into Fouquet’s workshop without being seen, maybe get a better look at that device, and get a clearer picture of how they’d got into this mess in the first place.

 

Maybe he’s moving slowly, but Tony knows how to handle himself, and he’s pretty sure he can get in and out of Fouquet’s warehouse without being seen.

 

Tony manages to break in through a window, and he’s surprised to see that the place has been cleared out. There’s nothing left; the floor has even been swept clean.

 

This has to be the work of either Hydra or SHIELD, and there’s no easy way to find out, not until Bruce gets a little deeper into SHIELD, and even then he’s going to have to be careful.

 

Then again, maybe Fouquet left some notes or something at SHIELD, or at his apartment. Maybe they should try searching there, although Tony’s pretty sure Bruce and Steve are going to yell at him for checking out the warehouse.

 

He’s walking back to the apartment when another set of cramps hits him hard, and Tony stumbles against the side of the building. “Hey, man, you okay?”

 

The young man who had been heading in the opposite direction stops and holds a hand out for Tony. “You okay?” he repeats. “Can I call someone for you?”

 

“No, I’m fine,” Tony replies. “I’m just headed home. I’ll be fine when I get there.”

 

“You need some help?” the man asks. “I can walk back with you.”

 

“Tony!” Steve jogs up to them. “You okay?”

 

Tony is definitely _not_ okay, but he doesn’t want to admit as much to Steve. Then again, he doesn’t really want to lead a stranger to their apartment, because he’s paranoid.

 

And he knows he’s going to need help to get back home.

 

“Just thought I’d go for a walk,” Tony replies. “Then I started feeling sick.”

 

“Let’s get you home,” Steve says. “Hey, man, thanks for stopping to help.”

 

The other guy nods. “Yeah, of course. You sure you don’t need any help?” he asks Tony.

 

“I’m sure,” Tony promises. “My buddy here will look after me.”

 

The words stick in his craw, but both Steve and Bruce have been great about Tony’s infirmity. He knows it’s not something he can help, but he still keeps expecting one or both of them to get tired of him being a dead weight.

 

“Come on, Tony,” Steve says. “You probably shouldn’t have been out on your own, not when you could have an attack at any moment.”

 

Steve takes most of Tony’s weight and hauls him along. “How bad?” he asks in an undertone.

 

“Fucking sucks,” Tony mutters.

 

Steve doesn’t even make a comment about Tony’s language, just provides silent support during the long walk back to their apartment. “Where were you?” Steve asks as they reach their apartment building.

 

“Fouquet’s warehouse,” Tony admits. “I wanted to get another look at the device.”

 

“He cleaned it out,” Steve says. “I went by there a couple of days ago, and it was empty.”

 

Tony frowns. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“Because Bruce would have been pissed off that I risked showing my face,” Steve replies. “And you and I haven’t actually been alone the last few days.”

 

Tony has to admit that’s true. “I’m sorry about this.”

 

“Not your fault, Tony,” Steve says quietly. “I wish you’d stop apologizing. Bruce and I have your back.”

 

Tony snorts. “I thought you didn’t like me much.”

 

“You grow on a person,” Steve replies with a half-smile. “Like a fungus.”

 

“Thank you very much,” Tony grumbles, but he’s wearing a smile when he says it, and he thinks this might be the friendliest he and Steve have been.

 

Steve adjusts his grip. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to go and get something?”

 

Tony shakes his head. “No. Maybe just some toast.”

 

Steve wears a worried expression, but he says, “Sure. I think Bruce picked up some applesauce, too, last time he was out. He said it would be easy on your stomach.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Tony agrees, more because he’s too tired to argue than anything else.

 

Steve hesitates. “You’ve lost weight, you know.”

 

“I guess _you_ would know since you’re having to haul my ass around,” Tony grumbles.

 

“We don’t mind,” Steve says. “Seriously, Tony. We’ll haul you around as much as we need to, just like you would do for us.”

 

Tony snorts. “Yeah, but I would bitch about it a lot more.”

 

“Probably,” Steve agrees cheerfully. “Probably about as much as you’ve been whining about not feeling well.”

 

Tony frowns. “I haven’t been bitching—that much.”

 

“That’s my point,” Steve says, and unlocks their door. He deposits Tony on the couch, and Tony curls up, his stomach cramping worse than ever.

 

Steve drapes a cool cloth over the back of Tony’s neck. “Bucky used to do this for me when I wasn’t feeling too good.”

 

And Tony feels unaccountably warmed at the gesture.

 

~~~~~

 

Steve is trying not to feel useless, especially since he’s the backup. Bruce is drawing a decent salary at SHIELD, but his focus has to be on getting them home, whereas Steve can make sure they have food and a roof, and maybe some halfway decent furniture.

 

He still hasn’t quite figured out how to reach out to Peggy, or if he should. Whatever reunion they have should be in private, away from others’ eyes. Peggy can keep a secret, and Steve knows that if it’s just her, they can talk, and get some closure.

 

Steve thinks that if he could say all the things he hadn’t said at the end, he might be able to move on.

 

Maybe he doesn’t want that white picket fence life anymore, but he wants more than he has, and he isn’t sure what that means, or what it looks like.

 

“Hey, Rogers,” George calls. “You want to get a drink with us after work?”

 

Steve has turned them down a few times now, and knows that the guys are probably going to start to wonder just what is keeping him from joining them. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “What time is it?”

 

The whistle blows. “Quitting time,” George replies with a grin. “So, you in?”

 

Steve does the math quickly. He doesn’t have to stay out long, just long enough for a couple of beers, and Bruce should be home in another couple of hours.

 

They’re both worried about Tony, who’s getting sicker and more listless, but there’s not much Steve can do about that.

 

“Yeah, sure,” he replies. “Happy to.”

 

The bar they go to is ancient, with scarred wooden floors and tables sticky with spilled beer. Drinks are cheap though, and Steve does the mental math and buys a round for everybody. Payday is Friday, and Bruce just got his first paycheck, so they should be okay.

 

“So, what’s your story?” George asks, leaning against the bar next to Steve. “You come to work, you go home, this is the first night you’ve been out with us. You got a girl?”

 

Steve ducks his head. “I had a girl. Things didn’t end so well.”

 

“Here in Los Angeles?” George asks.

 

“No, in—in New York,” Steve replies, and remembers what Bruce had said.

 

_“Look, the best way to build a false identity is to stick as close to the truth as you can,” Bruce says, handing Steve a falsified birth certificate. “You find someone to be, and if the facts mirror your own past, it’s that much easier to tell a lie.”_

_Steve frowns. “I don’t know if I can do this.”_

_Bruce sighs, glancing over at a sleeping Tony. It’s their second night in the apartment, and Steve knows Bruce is worried, but not how worried. “We need money, and we need it yesterday. It’s going to take a little time for me to build my identity so that I can get hired at SHIELD. It’s going to take far less time for me to cobble together something for you to get hired on as manual labor somewhere, and we need to eat, and we need to pay rent.”_

_That’s something Steve understands, because he’s been hungry, and he’s barely scraped by in the past. “Okay, so who am I?”_

_“Rogers is a pretty common last name, so keep that. I found a Thomas Stephen—with a ph—Rogers, Jr. who died as an infant, which is the best way to get a usable ID,” Bruce replies. “Tell people you go by your last or middle names, and if they ask if you’re any relation to Captain America, make a joke out of it.”_

_“What?” Steve asks. “Like, I wish?”_

_Bruce smiles approvingly. “Like that. And then, when they ask about your past, tell them as much of the truth as you think you can get away with. There’s a war on right now, and there’s a draft. People will expect you to have served.”_

_Steve thinks about that for a moment. “I did a tour, was lucky enough not to get killed, lost a lot of friends, and had a bad break up.”_

_Bruce claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll turn you into a spy yet, Cap.”_

 

“I got drafted, did a tour, and when I came back, I wasn’t the same guy she knew,” Steve says, although almost the opposite is true. “We just couldn’t make it work.”

 

“War changes a man,” George replies wisely. “Me? I did a hitch, but was lucky enough to get stationed in Germany. My uncle, though, he was in Korea, and he has some stories to tell, at least if he’s had enough to drink.”

 

Steve smiles. “I moved out here to get away from it, and get a fresh start with a couple of buddies.”

 

“They serve with you?” George asks.

 

Steve shakes his head. “No, we just got thrown together. You might say they were friends of the family, and I got them in the divorce.”

 

“Those are guys who will stick by you,” George replies. “Look, Steve, you’ve been great on the crew. You keep this up, you’ll be a foreman in no time.”

 

Steve wonders what George might say if he knew the truth, or if he knew that Steve’s union card—which Bruce had been smart enough to forge—is fake. “Thanks,” he says. “I guess we’ll see if I stick around L.A.”

 

He leaves the bar soon after that, feeling melancholy. Peggy is alive, and not senile, and almost within reach. Hell, some of the Howling Commandos are still alive, although Steve is less sanguine about meeting up with them.

 

He misses them, but he feels a tremendous amount of survivor’s guilt, and, well, he hadn’t been in love with any of them, although they’d been some of the best friends he’d had.

 

No, Steve wants _Peggy_ , and he wants closure, and that desire sometimes rises up so thick it chokes him.

 

He lets himself into the apartment and sees Bruce in the tiny kitchenette, leaning over the sink, eating a sandwich in quick bites that are a clear indication of his hunger.

 

“Hey,” Steve says. “How’s Tony?”

 

“Tony is awake and fully able to answer your questions,” Tony calls from his bed. “Thanks for asking.”

 

Bruce hitches a shoulder. “He’s a little better.”

 

“Mom probably decided to take a trip,” Tony says. “Maybe the lack of proximity helps.”

 

“You don’t know that for sure,” Steve objects.

 

Bruce sighs. “Steve’s right, because I happen to know that both Howard and Maria Stark are still in town. Maybe you’re getting used to it.”

 

“Did you see Peggy today?” Steve asks, unable to avoid poking the wound.

 

Bruce gives him a look Steve has a hard time reading. “No, she’s in New York, and I didn’t get a chance to ask why. She’s fine, though.”

 

Steve hesitates, and then says, “When she gets back, maybe you could take me into work with you.”

 

“No,” Bruce replies flatly. “That’s not a good idea.”

 

“You don’t know that!” Steve protests.

 

Bruce opens his mouth to reply, and Tony clears his throat. “Bruce. Maybe we should at least look into it. We’re already fucked, right? We’ve already messed with the timeline.”

 

Bruce drops his head and is quiet for a long moment. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “But even if I do agree, I can’t just smuggle you into the SHIELD offices, Steve. There’s no ‘take your kid to work day’ there.”

 

“No, I get it,” Steve says quickly. “But maybe you could be on the lookout for an opportunity.”

 

“Maybe I’ll think about whether or not it’s going to completely fuck us over,” Bruce counters and finishes off his sandwich. “I’m going to take a shower.”

 

Silence reigns, and then Tony says, “Steve, I get it, but—go easy on him, huh? This is hard on him.”

 

“Harder on him than on the rest of us?” Steve demands.

 

“I can’t help him,” Tony points out ruthlessly. “I can come up with theories, write down ideas, but with me sick all the time, I can’t do much more than that. If Bruce can’t figure this thing out, we’re fucked, and so is the future.”

 

Steve frowns. “You think I’m not feeling the pressure?”

 

Tony glares at him helplessly. “I think you’re not listening right now.” He lies back on his bed with his arm over his eyes. “Good night.”

 

Steve thinks that maybe they’re all going a little stir-crazy, a little wild. They’re cut off from the world and the people they knew with only each other, and it’s not easy.

 

He’s pretty sure it’s only going to get worse, though.

 

**Part III**

 

Peggy stands in front of the mirror, running a hand over her swollen abdomen, turning to the side to see the progression.

 

“Hey, beautiful.” Daniel comes up behind her, putting his hands on her belly.

 

“Hello, handsome,” she replies. “How was work today?”

 

Daniel smiles. “Just fine. Being a security consultant is a lot less exciting than chasing you around as a SHIELD agent.”

 

“Do you miss it?” Peggy asks.

 

He shrugs. “Not as much as I thought I would, honestly. I move a lot easier at the end of the day.”

 

“I always thought you moved just fine,” Peggy replies.

 

He laughs. “Are you going to bed?”

 

“In just a minute,” she promises.

 

“I’ll be in after I’ve brushed my teeth,” he says.

 

She’s reading her book when Daniel comes out of the bathroom, propping his crutch next to the nightstand. “How’s the book?” he asks.

 

“Interesting, but a bit of a downer,” Peggy replies, holding up _Cancer Ward_ by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.

 

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Soviet Russia is a bit of a downer. Why not read something lighter?”

 

Peggy sets the book aside. “Solzhenitsyn has a brilliant, incisive mind, and his exposure of communism gives me insight into our enemies.”

 

“Always working,” Daniel teases.

 

Peggy stiffens, and puts a hand on her stomach. “Oh.”

 

“Baby kicking?” Daniel asks, deliberately casual.

 

“Do you want to feel?” she asks.

 

Daniel hesitates, and then reaches out, and Peggy directs his hand. He smiles as the baby kicks again. “Active kid.”

 

“Quite,” Peggy replies.

 

Daniel cups her cheek. “You sure you okay with this, Peg?”

 

“Are you?”

 

“I told you, I’m behind you all the way,” Daniel replies.

 

Peggy sighs. “I’ll be honest, there’s a part of me that dreads the day when I have to give him or her up, but…”

 

“But?”

 

“But then I remember what it was like to hold our children in my arms for the first time, and I want to give Howard that chance,” Peggy replies.

 

Daniel lies back. “Well, I can’t deny that the idea of handing over a kid with your DNA to someone else—even Howard Stark—is a little hard to take, but your reasons for doing this are good. You think you’ll ever tell anybody?”

 

“I won’t, but maybe someday, if Howard and Maria want to tell him or her the truth, I won’t object,” Peggy replies, and then something occurs to her, and she laughs.

 

Daniel frowns. “What are you thinking?”

 

She pauses. “Just thinking about what Steve would say about this.”

 

They don’t talk about Steve very often. Daniel is one of the most understanding men she knows, but Peggy doesn’t want to ever cause Daniel to doubt her love for him.

 

“What do you think he’d say?” Daniel asks.

 

Peggy smiles nostalgically. “The first time Steve met Howard, he was flying Steve in to rescue his friend, Bucky. Howard was hitting on me, of course. He asked if I wanted to stop in Switzerland for fondue.”

 

Daniel laughs. “That sounds like Howard.”

 

“Steve asked if I ‘fondued.’ He didn’t know what it was.” Peggy laughs, the memory holding little pain after so many years.

 

Daniel runs a hand down her arm. “Do you ever wish things were different?”

 

Peggy shakes her head. “Perhaps I did at one point, but—I have you, and our children, and the life I have now is good. I grieved for Steve, and I let him go.”

 

“I love you,” Daniel says. “And Steve Rogers was a lucky man.”

 

She kisses him. “And I love you, and I’m a lucky woman.”

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce keeps running into roadblocks. Fouquet has disappeared, but he’d left a lot of his notes behind. The problem is that the notes are incomplete, a lot of it is in French, and he has no reason to request a translation.

 

He’s trying to do two jobs—figure out how to get them home, and do the job that SHIELD has hired him to do.

 

The longer they stay here, the better the chance that they’ll change the timeline. And the more Bruce thinks about it, the better he thinks the chance of that happening is, and the worse he believes the fallout will be.

 

So, he’s tired and frustrated when he gets home that night. It’s nearly midnight, and he was at SHIELD at 7 am.

 

Tony’s asleep when Bruce lets himself in, and he crouches down to check on him. Tony is a little sweaty, and he’s starting to look gaunt. Bruce grows more worried by the day, but he has no idea what he can do, other than try to get them home.

 

Tony stirs and smiles when he sees Bruce. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Bruce says, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “How are you feeling?”

 

Tony holds out a hand and makes a so-so gesture. “Been better, but I’ve been worse.”

 

“Maybe we should try something,” Bruce says. “I’m no closer to getting us back home, and you need to eat.”

 

“What are you thinking?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce hesitates. “Marijuana.”

 

“You want me to toke up?” Tony sounds amused more than anything else.

 

Bruce shrugs. “Studies have shown that marijuana can reduce nausea and stimulate the appetite. It’s worth a shot.”

 

“You’re going to go out and buy a dime bag,” Tony says with a smile. “You’d do that for me?”

 

Feeling greatly daring, Bruce runs a hand through Tony’s hair. “There’s a lot I’d do for you.”

 

Tony closes his eyes. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce replies. “So?”

 

“Hey, I’m willing to try just about anything once,” Tony replies.

 

“I refuse to believe that you’ve never tried weed before,” Bruce says.

 

Tony smiles. “I never inhaled.”

 

“That’s what they all say,” Bruce jokes. “I think you might need to try that this time, though.”

 

“Sure,” Tony replies. “Just don’t get arrested.”

 

Bruce snorts. “I’m sneakier than that. Where’s Steve?”

 

“Not home yet,” Tony replies. “He’s been going out after work with some of his coworkers.”

 

“Something I should worry about?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony puts a hand on Bruce’s leg. “He’s going to push you on seeing Peggy Carter.”

 

“I’ve thought about it,” Bruce admits. “And any way I think about it—even if Peggy can keep a secret—it’s too big of a risk.”

 

“For what it’s worth, I agree.” Tony’s fingers trace Bruce’s inseam. “So, are we doing this?”

 

“Not while we’re living with Steve,” Bruce replies. “But when we get back…”

 

Tony entwines their fingers. “It’s good to have goals.”

 

“I’ll pick up the weed tomorrow,” Bruce promises. “And I’ll try to be home at a reasonable hour.”

 

“You going to partake with me?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce laughs. “I might take a hit or two.”

 

“Knew you’d smoked before,” Tony replies.

 

“I tried a lot of things. Weed didn’t do that much for me, but it didn’t make things worse, either,” Bruce says.

 

“If you get home early, we could probably make out before Steve gets back,” Tony says.

 

Bruce laughs. “Incentives.”

 

“You know it.”

 

The door opens, and Steve enters, smelling like cheap beer, although he’s not drunk; he can’t get drunk, at least not on beer. “You just get home?” he asks Bruce.

 

“A few minutes ago,” Bruce replies. “How was your day?”

 

Steve shrugs. “Fine. Are you going to get me into SHIELD?”

 

Bruce glances at Tony, and he says, “I can’t.”

 

“You can’t get me in?” Steve asks. “It shouldn’t be that hard, not for a smart guy like you.”

 

Steve sounds bitter, is the thing, and Bruce knows he can’t get away with a “let me think about it,” or a “maybe eventually” anymore. He’s going to have to definitively shut Steve down, and he hates that. Of the three of them, Steve has the best case for revealing his presence.

 

And yet, they just can’t risk it. If they get it wrong, if someone sees Steve and puts things together, if Howard Stark finds out and changes the course of Tony’s life—a hundred things could go wrong, and then the future they return to could be irrevocably altered.

 

Possibly for the better, but they have no way of knowing that for sure. They’ve already changed things, unless Fouquet had disappeared briefly in the late 60’s, but Bruce’s background on him hadn’t covered that.

 

The dossier hadn’t said anything other than giving the evidence that he was Hydra, and Bruce isn’t sure they can risk Peggy Carter finding out that Hydra has infiltrated SHIELD.

 

“We can’t risk it,” Bruce says, rising to his feet.

 

“Why not?” Steve demands. “Peggy won’t say anything. When we explain things to her—”

 

“Explain what?” Bruce asks. “That a Hydra agent sent us back to the past? That he was in the employ of SHIELD? What do you think she’ll do? She’ll clean house!”

 

Steve looks plaintive, even a little desperate. “You don’t understand!”

 

Bruce can’t allow Steve’s anguished expression to move him. “Don’t you think there are things we’d want to change, too?” he demands. “Tony could tell his parents about their fatal car crash, tell them not to go out that night. I could fly to Ohio, warn my mom, maybe even convince her to leave my dad. Or I could go to my aunt, convince _her_ to stick close. I could make an anonymous report to the police.”

 

Steve flinches. “Bruce—”

 

“Do you think you’re the only person who’s lost someone?” Bruce shouts. “Do you think you’re the only person with regrets, _Steve_? You—you have no idea. You—”

 

He stops, because he’s about to lose control, he’s so close to going green, and he feels Tony grab him and pull him into a loose embrace. “Hey, you’re okay,” Tony says quietly. “You’re fine. We’re good here. Come on, Bruce. Deep breaths for me.” Tony runs his hands up and down Bruce’s back. “Steve, take a shower or take a walk, I don’t care, but don’t be here for the next thirty minutes.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says helplessly, hearing the door to the apartment open and slam shut. “Shit, Tony—I’m sorry.”

 

“No, hey, you’re good,” Tony says. “Come on, lay down with me, we’re okay. You’ve been under a lot of pressure.”

 

He spoons Bruce, his front to Bruce’s back, and Bruce feels his breath puff hot against the back of his neck. “You need sleep. No one is at their best when they’re exhausted.”

 

“I shouted at Steve,” Bruce mumbles. “I was so close.”

 

“But you didn’t transform, and Steve needed to be yelled at,” Tony replies. “He isn’t thinking through the ramifications.”

 

Bruce closes his eyes tightly. “Tony, I could save her.”

 

“And I could maybe save my parents,” Tony whispers. “Yeah, I know. We both know we can’t, so we just have to hold on to each other.”

 

And Bruce grabs his hand and hangs on, because he has absolutely no idea how he’s going to save them.

 

He isn’t the hero. At best, he’s hero adjacent, and their futures are still riding on him.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony knows when Steve gets back that night because he wakes up and disentangles himself from Bruce. “I told you to ease up,” he says in a low voice.

 

Steve looks tired and hollowed out. “I know.”

 

“What the fuck, Steve?” Tony demands. “Do you think Bruce is doing this just to make you miserable? What?”

 

Steve scrubs his hands over his face. “No, I don’t know. It’s just, it’s killing me to know that Bruce is so close to her, and he sees her nearly every day, and all I want to do…”

 

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, have you thought about Peggy?”

 

“What about her?” Steve asks.

 

“She’s married, isn’t she?” Tony asks. “She has a husband and kids. What is it going to do to her to see you again?”

 

Steve sags like a puppet who just had his strings cut. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, I know, Cap,” Tony replies, feeling begrudging empathy. “I get it. If I were in that same boat with Pepper, I’d be going a little bit crazy, too.”

 

Steve gives him a sharp look. “Pepper? Or Bruce?”

 

Tony frowns. “You got a problem with me and Bruce?”

 

“No, I have no problem with it,” Steve says impatiently. “I just—thought you and Pepper were still together.”

 

Tony sighs. “We haven’t advertised it, but we broke up a few months ago. The thing with Bruce is new.”

 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because you guys have been pretty cozy for a while.”

 

“Hey, we’re bros,” Tony replies. “He speaks my language.”

 

Steve nods, his arms crossed tightly across his chest and stares down at the floor. “I feel like a third wheel.”

 

Tony winces. “And I feel like a useless sack of shit, and Bruce feels like the weight of the world is on him, and he’s failing us. So, we’re all feeling pretty shitty right now.”

 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, probably in a desperate bid to change the subject.

 

“Like I’m going to puke at any second,” Tony replies. “And the only time I don’t feel crappy is when I’m asleep. Bruce is working on a fix to that, too.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Weed,” Tony replies. “Bruce says that studies have shown it can decrease nausea and increase appetite.”

 

Tony expects Steve to react like a virgin maiden aunt, but Steve grins. “Yeah, I tried that a couple of times.”

 

Tony blinks. “What? You?”

 

“When I was on the USO tour,” Steve explains. “The first couple of shows, I was nervous enough to flub my lines, so a couple of the chorus girls suggested I try reefer. It did about as much for me as alcohol does.”

 

“Will wonders never cease,” Tony muses. “Well, you’re welcome to smoke with us tomorrow.”

 

Steve smiles. “Maybe I will. I guess it’s a good thing I have tomorrow off.”

 

Tony frowns. “Yeah, I guess it is Saturday, huh?”

 

“Bruce still going in?” Steve asks.

 

“I’m hoping to convince him to sleep in a bit, but yeah, I think so,” Tony replies.

 

Steve hesitates. “If you need me to clear out for a while—”

 

Tony laughs. “Yeah, no. Probably not. But thanks for the offer.”

 

Steve nods. “I’m going to turn in.”

 

Tony’s wide-awake now, and not interested in going back to bed. He grabs a glass of water and wishes for whiskey, but he’s pretty sure he’s just going to puke it back up again.

 

He’s still awake when Bruce gets up the next morning around 8. “Did you sleep at all?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony shrugs. “I couldn’t.”

 

“Did you tell Steve I was sorry?”

 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Tony replies. “So, no.”

 

Bruce gives him an exasperated look. “Do you know how bad it would be if I transformed?”

 

Tony shoots him a dirty look of his own. “I have some idea, yes. But you didn’t transform, so there’s no need to apologize. Steve was the one who provoked you.”

 

Bruce sighs. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

 

“I didn’t know we were arguing,” Tony replies. “I invited Steve to hang out with us tonight, by the way.”

 

“Does he know what we’re going to be doing?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony shrugs. “He says he’s smoked before. Maybe it’ll be a chance to bond.”

 

“What, living together in close quarters for a couple of months hasn’t managed to bond us?” Bruce jokes. “I need to get going.”

 

“See you soon,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce hesitates, and then he closes the gap between them and pulls Tony in for a quick, warm kiss. “Later.”

 

Tony watches him go with a smile on his face, and thinks that something good might yet come out of this whole mess.

 

~~~~~

 

Steve doesn’t have to work, so he goes for a long run the following day, trying to clear his head.

 

He misses his runs around the Capitol, and his runs around Central Park. Los Angeles, or the area near their rundown apartment, anyway, doesn’t have the best scenery—mostly just pawnshops, gas stations, and similarly rundown buildings.

 

At least he doesn’t have to worry about anybody attacking him; if they do, they’re going to get a rude awakening.

 

After the tenth mile, his mind empties out, and he just keeps running. When he finally stops, he’s still a couple of miles from the apartment, and he starts to walk back, cooling off.

 

When he lets himself into the apartment, Tony is curled up on his mattress, apparently asleep, with the blanket covering just about everything but the top of his head. Steve takes a shower and pulls on clean clothes, and then he collapses on his own bed, intent on sleep.

 

He wakes up a few hours later when the sun is going down, and he’s starving. He smells something cooking, and over that, a familiar oily, herby smell that can only be one thing.

 

Tony and Bruce are sprawled on the threadbare couch, passing a blunt back and forth between them.

 

“Good evening, sleepyhead,” Tony says, sounding mellow and relaxed. “Have a nice nap?”

 

Steve sits up. “You know, I did. What’s cooking?”

 

“Tacos,” Bruce replies. “But chicken, and easy on the spice.”

 

“And the reefer?” Steve prompts. “Is it helping?”

 

Tony shrugs. “We just got started, so I guess we’ll see.” He holds out the blunt. “You’re welcome to join us if you don’t mind our cooties.”

 

“I doubt either of you could get me sick,” Steve replies, and decides that he should probably join in, just to be companionable. The three of them are in this together, and maybe it’s time for all of them to get on the same page, instead of going their separate ways.

 

Steve takes a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling.

 

“You’ve done that before,” Bruce accuses.

 

Steve hands the roach back to him. “It was the 40’s, Bruce. Just about everybody smoked, and I was no exception. I tried it out after the serum, when my lungs could handle it.”

 

Bruce takes a puff and hands it off to Tony. “I guess it would be a bad example these days.”

 

“Something like that,” Steve replies. He lies back on the mattress again and stares up at the ceiling. “Are we going to get back?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bruce replies, sounding grim. “Right now, I’m hitting roadblock after roadblock, and I don’t know how to get past it.”

 

Steve takes the roach again. “You need more resources.”

 

“Story of my life,” Bruce mutters.

 

Steve blows out a breath. “Okay, so how do we get you more resources?”

 

“Short of blowing our entire cover, I have no idea,” Bruce replies.

 

Steve feels relaxed, but he’s pretty sure that’s not the marijuana so much as the honest conversation with Tony and Bruce. “You’ll figure it out, doc,” he says. “I don’t have any doubts about that.”

 

They don’t say much after that, but Tony eats tacos with them, although he sticks with chicken and cheese and not the spicy salsa that’s also available.

 

Steve pretends not to notice that Bruce climbs into bed with Tony as soon as they think he’s asleep, and Steve wonders if they’re ever going to get home.

 

He wonders if the world will be the same if they do.

 

**Part IV**

“How are you feeling?”

 

Peggy frowns at Howard. They’re in the middle of the hallway at SHIELD, and she might be six months pregnant at this point, but she’s managed to keep it under wraps.

 

She would like to keep it that way.

 

“Not here,” she says, and pulls him into her office. “We agreed we weren’t going to talk about this at SHIELD.”

 

“We’re not talking about anything,” Howard replies. “I’m asking how you are.”

 

Peggy rolls her eyes. “You’re asking with obvious intent.”

 

“Maybe, but no one else knows about your condition,” Howard replies, and at least he’s keeping his voice down. “Maybe you and Daniel should come over for dinner tonight where we can actually talk. Maria’s worried.”

 

“So are you,” Peggy replies sharply. “And I sympathize, but we agreed that it was for the best to keep things quiet.”

 

Howard holds up his hands. “I _am_ keeping things quiet.”

 

Peggy rolls her eyes. “We work with a bunch of spies! It won’t take much to arouse suspicion. Anything out of the ordinary will cause questions.”

 

“We’re friends,” Howard replies. “Everybody knows that. You worry too much, Peg.”

 

“And sometimes I think you don’t worry enough,” she retorts, although she sighs a moment later. “Although you’re correct. A private conversation between friends isn’t going to raise any eyebrows.”

 

“What is this really about?” Howard asks.

 

Peggy glances away. “I’d like to lie to as few people as possible.”

 

She’s not concerned about her reputation; she’s married, after all, and while it would be a late, surprise pregnancy, such things happen. But she would have to come up with a reason she’d lost the baby, and there would be questions. Someone might even draw a connection between the birth of her child and the birth of Maria Stark’s.

 

She doesn’t want to tell people that she had a stillbirth or a late-term miscarriage. She doesn’t want to have to fake that kind of grief, although most would expect her to remain stoic.

 

Most of all, though, Peggy wants to protect the child, and she can best do that by ensuring that no one suspects the child isn’t fully a Stark.

 

“Understood,” Howard replies. “Peggy, you don’t know how grateful we are. I know what we agreed, but Maria has wanted a child for so long, as have I, and… We can’t thank you enough.”

 

She thinks about how happy she had been to find out that she was pregnant, how ecstatic Daniel had been to be a father.

 

“I’m happy to do this for you both,” she replies, and means every word.

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce freezes when he hears the door to the lab slide open. He’s been stealing computer time, slaving hard drives together to get the power he needs without anyone being the wiser.

 

He’s not supposed to be in here, so he hides when he hears people enter, and then realizes that he’s eavesdropping on a very private conversation.

 

Bruce doesn’t feel as though he can reveal himself without causing additional problems, and so he crouches down behind a lab bench and breathes as quietly as possible.

 

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and Bruce hears Howard Stark and Peggy Carter leaving, and he knows he needs to get out of there, although he has absolutely no idea what to do with the information he’s just discovered.

 

Tony Stark is _not_ the son of Howard and Maria Stark, as everyone had always believed, but of Howard Stark and Peggy Carter, apparently to give the Starks the child they so desired.

 

Bruce is certain Tony doesn’t know, and now he’s in the unenviable position of figuring out whether he should tell him.

 

Bruce slips out of the lab as soon as he believes the coast to be clear, and heads for his own lab. Feeling eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder, and sees Peggy standing at the other end of the corridor, and he suddenly wonders if she’d seen him coming out of the lab he’d just been in.

 

He works the rest of the day, but his heart isn’t in it, and he leaves at 6 sharp, still conflicted as to what to do with the information.

 

Bruce tells himself that he doesn’t know anything for sure as he rides the bus back to their apartment. Maybe Peggy is simply serving as a surrogate. He’s not sure when surrogacy became a thing.

 

 _Occam’s razor_ , Bruce thinks. The simplest explanation is usually the right one, and the simplest explanation is that Howard Stark had asked his good friend Peggy Carter to carry his child when Maria Stark couldn’t.

 

But he doesn’t know that _for sure_.

 

The apartment is wreathed in marijuana smoke when he enters, so apparently Tony has been working his way through the stash Bruce procured. It’s helping, is the important thing. Over the last week, Tony has been eating at least a couple of meals a day, which is a vast improvement over the last few months.

 

Bruce figures he’ll keep it under his hat for the time being, not say anything to anybody. If it comes up, or if it becomes an issue, then he’ll reveal his suspicions.

 

“Hey,” Tony says, a blunt in his hand. “Thanks for this, by the way. I feel a shit-ton better.”

 

“Good to know,” Bruce replies, and finds that he’s unable to meet Tony’s eyes for long. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Did Steve say anything about dinner?”

 

“I think he was picking something up,” Tony replies. “You okay?”

 

“Long day,” Bruce says. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

 

The bathroom is the only area in the apartment that offers any kind of privacy, and Bruce stays in there as long as he can get away with.

 

Steve and Tony are eating cheap cheeseburgers when Bruce emerges, and Steve says, “I got you a burger, too.”

 

“Thanks,” Bruce says. “I’ll take it.”

 

He’s working his way through his burger in quick bites when there’s a knock on the door, and it’s close enough to the beginning of the month and their rent being due that Bruce doesn’t think much of it, since their only visitor is their landlord.

 

Steve is finished with his dinner, so he gets up to answer the knock, and Bruce hears the door open, and then he hears a very shocked, “ _Steve_?” followed by a grunt from Steve.

 

“I need space on the couch,” Steve says as he carries Peggy inside the apartment. “She passed out. I don’t know why.”

 

“Oh, I can guess,” Bruce mutters. “Fuck. Put her down.”

 

He takes her pulse and finds it slightly fast, and says, “Steve, get a cold cloth, please.”

 

Peggy revives as soon as Bruce drapes the cold cloth over her forehead. “I never faint,” she says immediately.

 

“I think we can forgive you,” Bruce replies. “Are you alright?”

 

“Did I—” Peggy looks past him to see Steve. “Oh, I guess I wasn’t imagining it then.”

 

“You weren’t,” Bruce replies.

 

“Oh, god,” Tony says. “I have to—”

 

Bruce knows that he’s smoked enough marijuana to suppress his nausea under normal circumstances, and his loss of control confirms Bruce’s suspicions, and he has absolutely no idea what to say.

 

Tony dashes to the bathroom, and they can hear him throwing up, which causes Peggy to turn a little green, and Bruce thinks, _This is a farce. This cannot possibly be happening_.

 

And then Peggy says, “This can’t be happening,” and Bruce wants nothing more than to run away, leave and never come back. The world, the future can get by just fine without him. There have to be villages in India that need him just as much now as they did in the future.

 

God, time travel really fucks up your verb tenses.

 

Steve, who can keep his head in a crisis, thank _fucking_ god, kneels down next to Peggy and takes her hand. “It’s really happening, Peggy. Long story short, they found me and defrosted me in 2011. We formed the Avengers, and then one of SHIELD’s scientists managed to send us back in time by mistake.”

 

Bruce has to assume that Steve has been practicing that speech, because it’s too well rehearsed for anything else.

 

“You don’t look any older,” she says, struggling to sit up, and the way her clothing pulls tight across her middle in that position makes her condition obvious.

 

Steve’s eyes flicker to her abdomen, and then back up immediately. “I’m told I was very well preserved.”

 

“I’ll say,” she replies on a breathless laugh, and glances up at Bruce. “I’m assuming you’re a part of this.”

 

Bruce sighs. “Dr. Robert Bruce Banner,” he admits. “The degrees are all mine, and—well, most of what I said was true. I do go by Bruce, and I did need access to cutting edge tech.”

 

He’s heard rumors of Peggy’s intelligence, and he assumed they were all true. A woman doesn’t rise to her level in SHIELD without being incredibly smart, but he sees her working things out lightning fast.

 

“Dr. Fouquet was the one to send you back here,” Peggy says. “Do you know why?”

 

“We didn’t get the chance to ask,” Bruce admits.

 

Peggy nods. “And now he’s disappeared, leaving you rather in the lurch.”

 

“Something like that,” Bruce replies. “You understand why I was trying to hide it?”

 

She waves a hand. “Of course! You wouldn’t want to change the future any more than absolutely necessary. It could be cataclysmic.”

 

Steve lets out a breath. “Then you’ll help us?”

 

“I will always help you, Steve,” she replies with a nostalgic smile. “It’s not like I’m trying to find you a pilot to drop you behind enemy lines against direct orders.”

 

Steve’s expression is just as wistful. “Yeah, I guess this might be a little easier.”

 

“Not least because I’m calling the shots,” Peggy replies, and then looks at Bruce. “I know what you overheard earlier.”

 

Bruce grimaces. “Yeah, about that—there’s maybe a small problem.” At her look of alarm, he quickly says, “Not that I plan on telling anybody. It’s just—” He glances over his shoulder, and Tony’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, looking pale and haggard. Whatever the weed had done for his equilibrium had clearly been wiped away.

 

Peggy gets to her feet, more gracefully than Bruce expects from someone who has to be about six months pregnant. “Oh, my God. You’re the spitting image of Howard.”

 

Bruce knows that a lot of people have commented on how much Tony and Howard Stark resemble one another, but right now, he can see a bit of Peggy in Tony, too. It’s in the nose, and maybe the chin, and when Peggy smiles, Bruce knows Tony’s worn that very expression.

 

For his part, Tony just seems a little confused. “Bruce, I thought we agreed that this was a bad idea.”

 

“It’s probably a terrible idea, but it wasn’t mine,” Bruce replies.

 

Tony’s staring at her. “It’s been a long time, Aunt Peg.”

 

“Has it?” she asks tremulously.

 

And suddenly Bruce knows that he has to tell Tony, he has to expose the elephant in the room. Tony’s parents aren’t around to object, and if Tony tells Peggy that she and Howard, or possibly Maria, had a falling out, who knows what that would do to the timeline.

 

“Tony, Peggy came by today because I overheard a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear, and she was concerned that I might tell someone,” Bruce says, wanting to be as gentle as he can be.

 

Peggy makes a sound in protest. “Dr. Banner, I—”

 

“No one here is going to spread the news, but Tony has to know,” Bruce says. “His health depends on it at this point.”

 

“Depends on what?” Tony demands, taking a lurching half-step, clearly nearly undone by Peggy’s proximity, and fuck, this is hard.

 

Bruce takes his weight, giving him support, and he looks at Peggy, waiting to see if she’ll fill him in, or if Bruce will be forced to do it.

 

“I made a promise,” she says simply.

 

Bruce sighs. “Tony, Peggy Carter is your biological mother.”

 

And then he waits for the inevitable furor.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony can’t believe it—he _wouldn’t_ believe it, except that there’s no way Bruce would lie about something like that, and Aunt Peggy’s expression is rueful, exactly the way someone like her would respond when a secret of this magnitude got out.

 

But things start to slot in place—Bruce overhearing a conversation that would bring her here, to try to convince—or threaten or cajole—him into keeping the secret. The almost meaningless exchange a couple of weeks ago, when Tony had been feeling better, but Bruce had said the Starks were still in town but Peggy had gone to New York.

 

Tony remembers a few whispered conversations between his parents from his childhood, quickly stifled when they knew he could overhear.

 

And he remembers how, after his Aunt Peggy had moved to Washington D.C. on a permanent basis and was never around, she would call to talk to Jarvis, and Jarvis would always insist Tony get on the phone if he was there.

 

“You—” Bruce squeezes his shoulder in warning, and Tony realizes that he can’t ask about any of that, about what had happened to make her leave and not return. It hasn’t happened yet for her, and it could change everything.

 

He can’t ask her if she’d known what kind of a father Howard Stark had been, and if she’d ever regretted leaving him in his father’s care.

 

There are a thousand things that he wants to ask and can’t—a thousand things that he would have asked at his parents’ funeral when he’d seen her for the first time in years.

 

Then, she had been a vague presence, remembered fondly from his childhood, but nothing more.

 

Why? What had happened? He doesn’t know, and he isn’t sure he ever will.

 

“I had no idea,” Tony manages to say. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Peggy replies. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

 

Tony swallows convulsively. “I—yeah. It’s a paradox.”

 

“Two people can’t exist in the same place at the same time,” Bruce explains. “As best we can figure, Tony is the one who doesn’t belong here, so he’s the one suffering the consequences.”

 

Peggy takes a step forward, and Tony takes a step back, his stomach roiling alarmingly. “Sorry,” Tony says. “I’m really sorry, but the closer you get—”

 

Peggy lets her hand fall, and she grimaces. “Of course. I’ll just—”

 

“Steve, why don’t you take her for a walk?” Bruce suggests. “Agent Carter, we can talk more about what we’re going to need going forward tomorrow at a place of your choosing. Just let Steve know.”

 

Peggy gives a quick, jerky nod and offers a forced smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to make matters worse.”’

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony repeats.

 

Peggy looks at him, and says, “Sweetheart, it’s not your fault. Just—tell me—are you happy?”

 

Tony meets Bruce’s eyes, and hitches a shoulder. “Yeah, I am.”

 

She nods, understanding in her eyes. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

 

When Steve has ushered Peggy out, Tony sags. “I didn’t handle that well.”

 

“You’re sick, and the closer she is, the sicker you’re going to be,” Bruce replies. “I think we’ve covered that. Come on, sit down.” Bruce gets him on the couch, and he goes to the kitchen for a can of ginger ale. “Sip this, and then you can try the marijuana again.”

 

Tony scrubs a hand over his face. “What did you hear, Bruce? I need to know.”

 

Bruce sits next to him and rubs his back. “I was in a lab, stealing resources, and I heard a couple of people enter. Since I wasn’t supposed to be there, I hid. It was your dad and Agent Carter, and they were talking. Howard thanked her, said he and your mom couldn’t thank her enough, that they wanted a child for so long…”

 

Bruce shrugs. “It was more in what they didn’t say, but the message was pretty clear. Clear enough to get Agent Carter here to convince me not to say anything.”

 

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Tony admits. “There are so many questions, but I can’t ask her any of them. She wouldn’t know the answers.”

 

Bruce slings an arm across Tony’s shoulders and pulls him in close. “I know. You aren’t going to get any answers from Peggy now, but maybe when we get back.”

 

“I’ve got family I never knew about,” Tony mutters. “Aunt Peggy had a couple of kids, and I think they have kids, too. I’ve got half-siblings and nieces and nephews.”

 

“So? When we go back, if you want, we can track them down,” Bruce says. “Just to see how they’re doing, make sure they’re okay.”

 

Tony leans into Bruce. “You know what the worst part about this is?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I can’t even spend any time with her without puking on her shoes,” Tony says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for Steve and all, but—I just found out that she’s my biological mother.”

 

Bruce rests his forehead against Tony’s. “Maria Stark was your mom, Tony. Peggy Carter may have supplied half your DNA, but your mom raised you.”

 

“My mom wasn’t around much more than my dad was,” Tony admits. “And to be honest, sometimes I wondered if she really gave a damn about me. She was always kind of vague. I thought it was just her, but maybe—maybe she regretted it. Maybe she decided that she didn’t want me.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “I don’t believe that, Tony. Not from what Howard said. Parent-child relationships are difficult under the best of circumstances.”

 

Tony pulls back to look him in the eye. “What if that’s what happened? What if my mom couldn’t handle it, and she wouldn’t let Aunt Peggy see me anymore?”

 

“Maybe,” Bruce says quietly. “Maybe that’s what happened, but you don’t know. And I hate to say this, but you might never know, Tony.”

 

Tony shudders. “Shit.”

 

Bruce frames Tony’s face with his hands, big, and warm and callused, and Tony relaxes into the touch. “You’re missing the bright side here.”

 

“What’s that?” Tony asks.

 

“You’re the son of a superspy,” Bruce says with a smile. “And the son of Peggy Carter. Meaning that your parents are Steve’s friend and first love. You have to know that Steve’s mind is completely blown right now.”

 

Tony starts to laugh, and maybe it’s a little hysterical, but it’s also a relief.

 

~~~~~

 

“This is all a little awkward,” Peggy admits.

 

She’s the first to speak, because Steve is still stunned by the revelations. “A little,” he says.

 

Peggy laughs. “Doctor—well, Dr. Banner wasn’t supposed to overhear my conversation with Howard, and I suppose I wasn’t supposed to know about all of this. In any other context, I’d have called this mutually assured destruction.”

 

“We’re not going to destroy you,” Steve says, a little confused.

 

“I just meant that we both have secrets we’re not allowed to tell,” Peggy replies. “Not that there’s any destruction involved.”

 

Steve’s still stuck on the fact that Tony’s her kid. “You’re Tony’s mother, though.”

 

Peggy shakes her head definitively. “No. Howard and Maria are Tony’s parents. I may be carrying him, and I might have donated half his genetic material, but he’s a Stark.”

 

“Understood,” Steve says, although he doesn’t get it quite. “Why’d you do it, Peggy? I know you got married, and everybody said it was happy.”

 

Peggy gives him a look that he remembers well. “I’ll thank you not to tell me anything about the future, Steve. SHIELD has done a bit of research into time travel, and we decided it was more trouble than it was worth. I don’t want to know anything that might result in the future being destroyed.”

 

Steve sighs. “Yeah, sorry. But you’re happy?”

 

Peggy gives him a long look. “How long has it been for you?”

 

“In real time? I guess a few years,” Steve says. “Maybe three.”

 

“Then if it makes you feel any better, it took me a long time to feel like I could move on,” Peggy says softly. “I grieved your loss, and it took time to be ready to move on, and then even a little longer to actually do so.”

 

It doesn’t make him feel any better, although he thought it might. Instead, it just makes him feel sad, because there had been a few years when Peggy had been grieving, and he hadn’t been able to comfort her.

 

“Steve,” Peggy says, putting a hand on his arm, stopping him. “My husband is a good man, a kind man, who respects me and what I do. You’d like him very much.”

 

“And this thing with Howard?” Steve asks.

 

Peggy hesitates. “He needed an heir, Steve, and he trusts very few people. I didn’t want to take the risk that Stark Industries would fall into Obadiah Stane’s hands.”

 

Steve grimaces. “Yeah.”

 

“It’s nice to know I’m right about Stane, but I’d rather not know how right,” Peggy says. “Just tell me that he’s not a threat.”

 

Steve thinks about Afghanistan, about what had happened to Tony, and what had come of it. “He’s not a threat.”

 

Peggy nods. “Good to know.”

 

Steve’s mind is racing. He understands the distinction that Peggy drew, but at the same time, he can’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that _Peggy_ is _Tony’s mother_. It just doesn’t compute.

 

But maybe it does, some small voice whispers. Steve doesn’t know Maria Stark, and will never know her, but he’d known Howard, and he knows Peggy.

 

Now that he’s gotten to know Tony better, he can see pieces of Howard and Peggy both. He sees Peggy in Tony’s smile, and fierce determination. He sees Howard in Tony’s brilliance and arrogance and flair.

 

It’s easy to see only Howard sometimes, and not Peggy, but those qualities are there, too.

 

“What is he like?” Peggy asks. “Tony? I—maybe I knew at one point, but I don’t know now, and apparently, it’s not possible to get close to him.”

 

Steve pauses. “I’m probably not the best person to ask.”

 

“Why?” Peggy asks.

 

“Because Bruce knows him better than I do,” Steve replies. “Tony and I don’t always see eye to eye.”

 

Peggy gives him a sharp look. “Then that means you probably have an even better view of him, because you won’t try to sugarcoat things for me, and you’ll be honest.”

 

Steve gathers his thoughts. “He saved New York by redirecting a nuke through a hole in space and saved millions, with no thought of his own life.”

 

He remembers what he’d said about Tony not being the guy to lie down on the wire, and wonders if he’d said that knowing he was Peggy Carter’s son, too.

 

Probably not.

 

Peggy smiles. “Impressive.”

 

Steve tries to think of other things to tell her, that won’t fuck over the timeline, and he adds, “He saw Stark Industries going in the wrong direction, and he changed that. He’s trying to make the world a better place.”

 

Peggy nods. “Good.” She gives him a hard look. “Are _you_ happy?”

 

For the first time in his life, Steve lies to her. “Yeah, Peg. I’m happy. I’ve got friends and important work, and it’s what I always wanted.”

 

Peggy, as usual, sees right through him. “But do you have someone important in your life?”

 

And Steve takes her hands, looks her in the eye, and says, “Yes. I’m okay.”

 

It’s not even entirely a lie, since the whole team is important to him, and Bucky is out there somewhere, and he always has Sam at his back.

 

Steve has people, even if he doesn’t have Peggy, and doesn’t have a romantic relationship, but he’s okay.

 

“I really wanted to have that dance with you,” he admits. “I wanted it more than just about anything else in the world.”

 

Peggy looks up and blinks back tears, and she says, “So did I. I loved you _so much_.”

 

“I loved you too,” Steve replies, using the past tense deliberately, even though he doesn’t really mean it.

 

He loves her _now_ , and he thinks he will always love her, but maybe he can move on. Peggy knows how he feels—or felt—and she will always know, even when she’s old and in the hospital and doesn’t know past from present.

 

She’s heard him say the words. That has to be enough.

 

**Part V**

 

Peggy goes home that night, her mind all awhirl. Daniel has already made dinner, and he and the kids are sitting around the table, working on school projects they couldn’t complete during the week.

 

“Hey,” Daniel says, giving her a quick hug and kiss. “You’re late.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she replies quickly. “One of my errands took a bit longer than expected. How are you, my darlings?” She kisses each of her children and receives murmured assurances that they’re fine, and says, “Well, long day. I’m going to take a bath. I’ll be out in a bit.”

 

It’s enough to dissuade her children from asking any questions, since they’re used to secrecy, but she’s well aware that it won’t be enough for Daniel. Indeed, he comes into the bathroom a bit later and perches on the edge of the tub, bad leg stretched out in front of him.

 

“You want to tell me what happened?” he asks.

 

Peggy tips her head back and fights tears.

 

He grabs her hand. “Peg, come on, now you’re scaring me.”

 

“I can’t tell you,” she admits. “And I want to tell you so badly, but if I do, it could literally cause a horrible disaster that costs millions of lives, and yet…”

 

“Oh, hey now,” Daniel says, cupping her face and peppering her lips with gentle kisses. “Then tell me something. Tell me something I can do to help you.”

 

Peggy has no idea what to say, and then she says, “What would you do if you knew you only had five years left to live, and there were still so many things you wanted our children to know?”

 

Daniel frowns. “What do you know?”

 

“It’s not you or me, it’s someone else,” Peggy replies. “It’s a friend, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, but I still want to help.”

 

She watches Daniel thinking, and he says, “I’d tell them to write letters, or maybe make a video if they’ve got the equipment. I’d tell them to leave behind as much of themselves as they could.”

 

Peggy thinks of what she knows, and how much she’d gleaned from Steve, probably without him even knowing about it. She’ll get more out of Bruce tomorrow, but she can write letters. She can write letters and leave them with an attorney to be delivered when Tony returns to the future. Whatever questions he has that she can’t answer right now, maybe she’ll cover later.

 

It’s the best she can offer.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

Daniel isn’t an idiot, and he asks, “Does this have something to do with Stark’s kid?”

 

He usually refers to the child she carries as Stark’s, probably because it’s easier for him that way.

 

“In a way,” Peggy replies. “It was a hard day.”

 

Daniel kisses her again. “I love you. You know that.”

 

“I do,” Peggy replies. “And I love you, so much.”

 

Daniel pauses, and then he says, “I’ll be in the kitchen. If you need me, just holler.”

 

And Peggy allows the tears to run down her face—feeling grief for the child she’s carrying and apparently had never known, for Steve, for all of it.

 

She’s always known that life isn’t fair, and this situation just proves it.

 

When she gets out of the bath, she throws on a robe and puts her hair up, and then she goes to the bedroom and picks up the phone to dial a familiar number.

 

It’s not the Starks’ house phone, but Jarvis’ private number. They don’t talk as much these days, but maybe it’s time they reconnect.

 

“Hello, Jarvis,” she says.

 

“Agent Carter,” he replies, surprise in his voice. “I think you might have the wrong number.”

 

Peggy smiles and feels the tears threaten again. “I don’t, actually. I wanted to speak with you, and maybe with Anna. There’s something you need to know, and I have a rather large favor to ask.”

 

Jarvis hesitates and then replies. “Ms. Carter, I’m not sure that either of us are up for any more adventures.”

 

“I know,” Peggy replies immediately. “It’s not something that will put either of you in jeopardy, but I believe it’s something we should meet in person to discuss. Please.”

 

She can hear him softening. “Very well, then. How about tomorrow? I’m taking Anna out to brunch, and I’m sure she’d be glad to see you.”

 

“Thank you,” she says, and she knows, no matter what happens, there will be one person looking out for Tony’s best interests.

 

For the first time, she lets herself say his name out loud. “Tony Stark. My son’s name is Tony Stark.”

 

It’s a little like a knife to the gut.

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce shows up at Stark Industries late Sunday afternoon to meet with Agent Carter, feeling a sense of trepidation. The game has changed, and he’s not sure what to expect from her.

 

“I have my office swept for bugs regularly,” she says as he takes a seat, their positions mirroring his interview from eight weeks ago. “But there are certain things I’m not comfortable discussing here.”

 

Bruce nods. “That’s probably wise.”

 

“What do you need to complete your project?” Peggy asks bluntly.

 

“I need Fouquet’s notes translated,” Bruce admits. “Parts are in French, which I don’t speak, although Tony does. I had no way to get them off the premises.”

 

Peggy nods. “Easily done. Is he up to the task right now?”

 

Bruce hesitates. “I don’t know.”

 

“Would distance help?”

 

Bruce nods slowly. “When you took that trip to New York, he was feeling better. I didn’t put the information together at the time, since…well.”

 

Peggy nods. “That can be arranged. I have some business in D.C. that I’ve been putting off. I think it might be easier on everyone if there were 3000 miles between us.”

 

Bruce winces, knowing that Steve isn’t going to be thrilled with that. “You know, if you wanted, you could call,” he offers. “We’re pretty sure it’s the physical proximity that’s the problem.”

 

Peggy’s smile is there and gone again. “Perhaps. I imagine that he has questions that I don’t know the answers to, and I have questions he shouldn’t answer.”

 

Bruce inclines his head. “Probably.”

 

“What else?” Peggy asks.

 

“Resources, particularly computer time,” Bruce replies. “It’s nothing like what we had access to, but every little bit helps, and if there’s anyone who was close with Fouquet…”

 

Peggy shakes her head. “He very much kept to himself, if I recall, but I can make inquiries.”

 

Bruce thinks about how he wants to phrase the next question. “Did SHIELD clean out his warehouse?”

 

“Not that I know of,” Peggy admits. “Do you think he was working for someone else?”

 

“It might explain why he disappeared the way he did, and why his place was cleaned out,” Bruce points out. “But I couldn’t say for sure.”

 

Peggy’s gaze sharpens, and he knows she’s reading between the lines—Bruce _can’t_ tell her, but he’s being as honest as he can be under the circumstances. “Very well. I will let everyone know that you’re working on a special project for me, and any and all necessary resources are to be placed at your disposal.”

 

“Thank you, Agent Carter,” Bruce replies formally, and starts to stand.

 

“A moment,” she says, stopping him. “I was told that you know him best.”

 

Bruce knows what she’s asking, and he chooses his words carefully. “Tony is one of the most brilliant, maddening, creative, and generous people I know. He was the first person to see me, everything that I am, and just—accept it.”

 

Peggy smiles. “Funny, that’s very similar to what I’d already heard.”

 

“I’ll do everything I can to make him happy,” Bruce promises.

 

“Thank you,” she replies, and holds out a hand. “If I don’t see you again, it’s been a pleasure, Dr. Banner.”

 

Bruce shakes her hand and glances away, a little embarrassed. “The pleasure has been all mine.”

 

~~~~~

 

On Monday morning, Tony is feeling a lot better, enough so that he feels up to reading through Fouquet’s notes and translating the parts that are in French. Bruce had clearance from Peggy Carter to bring them home, and had done so the previous night, along with news that she’d be out of town for the foreseeable future.

 

Steve seems a little depressed at the knowledge that she’s out of reach for the time being, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He just goes to work and comes back home, and Tony finds himself hoping that Steve had gotten a sense of closure that now appears out of Tony’s reach.

 

When Bruce gets home Monday night, Tony’s been through Fouquet’s notes, and he has a few theories of his own. “How’s it going?” Bruce asks.

 

“Looks like dear old mom kept her word,” Tony replies. “I haven’t felt this good since she took that trip to New York.”

 

Bruce frowns. “Tony.”

 

He sighs. “I’m still wrapping my head around it, okay? Can we not talk about it?”

 

“Not if you don’t want to,” Bruce replies.

 

“Okay, so, I think I’ve got a theory as to how Fouquet made it work,” Tony begins.

 

He hasn’t been able to do any kind of science or lab work in weeks, and it feels good to bounce ideas back and forth with Bruce, although they’re using pen and paper, rather than any kind of fancy equipment.

 

But hey, Tony had worked with less when he’d been in Afghanistan—although, granted, he hadn’t been trying to bend the rules of space and time.

 

He and Bruce are heatedly debating one of the key mathematical equations when Steve enters, bringing dinner. “Hey, you guys hungry?”

 

“I could eat,” Tony says. And then he pauses, because if there’s anything this foray into the past has done for them—other than blowing Tony’s ideas about his parentage out of the water—it’s that he and Steve are friends. “Are you okay?”

 

Steve nods. “Yeah, I am. I got closure, and Peggy’s happy. That’s the important thing.” He gives Tony a sharp look. “You?”

 

“Right now, I’m trying not to think about it,” he admits. “Or talk about it.”

 

Steve nods. “Well, if you ever do…”

 

Tony jerks his head. “You’ll be my first call.”

 

Funny thing is, Tony means it.

 

~~~~~

 

For Steve, things seem to move very quickly after that. Something in Fouquet’s notes that Bruce discovers proves the key to getting Tony and Bruce on the right track.

 

Steve has a couple of phone conversations with Peggy in the meantime, and he knows she’s staying away for Tony’s sake. “Are you okay?” she asks.

 

“I’m good,” he replies. “I think we’re getting closer. How are you?”

 

“Enjoying D.C.,” she replies. “Have you been?”

 

Steve smiles. “Yeah, I have. I was stationed out of D.C. for a while. It was great. I miss the Reflecting Pool. I used to run around there.”

 

“It’s quite beautiful,” she agrees.

 

They exchange a few pleasantries, and Peggy says, “Will you put Bruce on?”

 

Steve isn’t surprised that she’s asked to talk to Bruce. He has a way about him, of putting people at ease, at least when they don’t know about the Hulk. “Sure. It was good to talk to you.”

 

“You, too,” Peggy says.

 

Bruce takes the phone, and Steve hears part of the conversation. “Yeah, we’re close,” Bruce admits. “Maybe a couple of days.” There’s a pause, and he replies, “No, don’t destroy anything, not the machine, not his notes, any of it. If Fouquet turns up again, and he looks for it, don’t do anything to hide it from him.”

 

“Yeah, we’ll let you know,” Bruce promises. “Maybe a couple of days on the outside. You, too.”

 

Steve looks at him when he hangs up the phone. “You aren’t going to destroy the machine? Why?”

 

Bruce grimaces. “Look at it this way, Steve. What if we were always supposed to come back to the past? What if the things we did here, were things that we had to do to make things turn out the way they did? And then what if we change _that_ , and _that’s_ the thing we do to fuck with the future?”

 

Steve frowns. “So, why were we worried about changing things?”

 

“Because we have absolutely no idea what theory of time travel is correct, and we’re hedging our bets,” Tony inserts. “Either we were always supposed to go back to the past, or the changes we’ve made are permanent, or maybe it’s just a big, ol’ timey-wimey Mobius strip.”

 

Steve stares at him. “I have no idea what you just said.”

 

“We don’t know enough about time travel, and we already went back to the past, so maybe we were always going back to the past,” Bruce explains.

 

Steve rubs his forehead. “This is making my head hurt.”

 

“Join the club,” Tony mutters. “We’re taking a gamble here, Steve, but our calculations put us in the future just after we were sent back, within a few minutes. Which means that _this_ has to have happened. We can’t reenter the timeline prior to the event.”

 

Steve thinks about it for a moment, and then he throws his hands up. “You know, I’m going to take a nap. I trust you guys to figure things out.”

 

“Thanks,” Tony says, and Bruce echoes the sentiment before they go back to their work.

 

When Steve wakes up the next morning, Bruce is gone, and Tony is working his way through a bowl of cereal, dark circles under his eyes. “Where’s Bruce?”

 

“Putting the finishing touches on our machine,” Tony replies. “Which is being delivered to the warehouse where Fouquet originally had it, which puts us right back where we started however many months ago and/or forty-seven years in the future.”

 

Steve lets out a breath. “When?”

 

“Today,” Tony replies. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

 

Steve wants to see Peggy one more time, but he knows it’s a bad idea. Peggy has another life, a good life, and they’d said what they needed to say to each other. “No, it’s okay. It’s—well, it fucking sucks.”

 

Tony grimaces. “Yeah, it does.”

 

“She was the love of my life,” Steve confesses. “I don’t think I’ll ever love anybody else.”

 

Tony just looks at him, long and hard, and he eventually says, “You might not. Every girl you ever meet—every boy, too—you might look at and think they aren’t Peggy Carter, so it’s not worth trying. Or maybe you look at each person, and you realize no one’s ever going to compare, so you don’t try, and you judge them on their own merits.”

 

Steve swallows, realizing that he’s been doing a lot of that with Tony—comparing him to Howard Stark, to the people he’d known, not taking Tony as himself. The last few weeks have helped with that.

 

“I’m going to try to do that,” Steve replies, and it’s a promise.

 

Bruce comes in with lunch, and says, “Okay, we’ve got enough time to eat, and that’s about it. We have to be at the warehouse in forty minutes if we’re going to make the window.”

 

“What window?” Steve asks.

 

“We need to leave just a few minutes after we arrived,” Bruce says. “And yes, we can leave tomorrow, but I’d like to get moving now.”

 

“Why?” Steve asks.

 

Bruce sighs. “Because even with Peggy’s distance, Tony’s still sick, and I want to get him back to the right time period and maybe get him better. I would prefer not to wait on that.”

 

Steve mentally kicks himself for having forgotten. “I got it. Okay. Yeah. Are we—should we tell anybody?”

 

“I already called Peggy,” Bruce says.

 

Steve nods, taking the statement for what it’s worth. If Peggy wanted to talk to him or Tony, she would have called. She hadn’t called, so she doesn’t want to talk.

 

He’s not sure he blames her.

 

“Okay,” Steve says. “That’s okay.”

 

He meets Tony’s eyes, and sees a shared regret. “We should get moving,” Tony says. “Nothing else is holding us here.”

 

“I guess it’s about time to get back to our own time, right?” Steve says.

 

**Epilogue**

 

Peggy picks up the phone and hears the voice of her trusted agent on the other end. “Director, it’s done. There’s no sign of our subjects, and the device is still there.”

 

“Put it in storage, and clear out the apartment as we discussed,” Peggy orders. “Destroy or donate everything you can.”

 

“Anything else?” he asks.

 

Peggy hesitates. “No. I’ll be unavailable for the rest of the day.”

 

She hangs up the phone, and then she begins to put her plan into motion. Jarvis had promised to keep an especially close eye on Tony, but there’s so much she wants to be sure he knows, so much she wants to say.

 

He knows that she’s his biological mother, so she’s not betraying her old friend. Now, she needs to keep the promise she’d made to herself.

 

She picks up a pen and writes her first letter.

 

_My darling son…_

 

~~~~~

 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks, sitting down next to Tony in his lab. “You’ve been pretty subdued the last week or so.”

 

Tony stares at his hands. “Did you know that Peggy Carter died four months ago? I mean, she was sick for a long time, and she had Alzheimer’s, but how many years were there in between that time when I could have talked to her?”

 

“Not to sound callous, but as far as you knew, Peggy was just an old friend of your father’s who disappeared from your life,” Bruce points out. “You had no reason to seek her out. You had no way of knowing what she was to you, because she wasn’t anything other than your dad’s friend.”

 

Tony rubs his eyes. “I remember her from when I was little, though. She was always really nice to me. She’d bring me presents, and ask me about the things I was interested in, in a way that said she really cared. One day, she just stopped coming, and I was angry.”

 

“How old were you?” Bruce asks sympathetically.

 

Tony looks up, trying to remember. He can’t remember his age, but he does recall the hurt. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt abandoned, but it had still cut deep. “I don’t know. Seven? Eight?”

 

“You were a kid, Tony,” Bruce replies. “All you knew was that someone you loved left and didn’t explain why. Your parents didn’t tell you, probably for fairly obvious reasons, and she _couldn’t_ tell you, not and keep her promise to your parents. She asked Jarvis to look after you.”

 

Tony stares at him. “How do you know that?”

 

Bruce hesitates, and then admits, “I called her before we left to come back here, to let her know and give her final instructions about what to do with the machine, and everything we might have left behind. She told me to tell you that she’d left you a legacy, partly in the form of her friend Jarvis, and partly in something that would come later.”

 

Tony frowns. “But Jarvis—”

 

“Loved you, and he would have loved you even if you hadn’t been Peggy’s son,” Bruce says. “She was pretty quick to assure me of that. But Jarvis and his wife couldn’t have children of their own, and they were close to Peggy. Jarvis was loyal to your dad, but he loved Peggy, and he adored you.”

 

Tony looks away. “I—what else?”

 

“That’s what this is about,” Bruce replies, and hands him a box. “It was delivered today. I gave her a date I thought would be safe, a couple of weeks after we were due to return. She said that she would have a package delivered. I don’t know if she knew she’d be gone by now, but…well. Maybe she did. Maybe she thought it wouldn’t matter.”

 

He holds out the package, wrapped in brown paper and addressed in spidery handwriting to “Tony Stark, Stark Tower,” and a date.

 

Tony traces the handwriting.

 

“I’ll leave,” Bruce offers.

 

Tony quickly shakes his head. “No, stay. Please.”

 

Bruce settles down beside him again as Tony unties the string and unwraps the brown paper, finding a large box, like the kind used to hold high-end boots. There are envelopes—maybe hundreds—all with a date on them.

 

And on top of the sealed envelopes, there’s a single sheet of paper, folded in half.

 

 _My darling son_ , he reads. _I can’t possibly anticipate all of your questions, and I suspect you will never have all the answers you desire. I suspect we’ll be in the same boat there. I’ve told my family that they can expect you to call upon them, and they should answer your questions. Your secret is as safe with them as it ever was with me. We are a family of spies, and secrets run in our blood._

_I made what choices I did out of love—for a friend, for my country, and for the hope of a future. I hope you can forgive me whatever mistakes I may have made along the way, for much the same reasons._

_All my love,_

_Peggy Carter_

_March 17, 1970_

 

“Three months before I was born,” Tony says.

 

Bruce squeezes his shoulder. “And the day after we left. I think she started this project then.”

 

Tony stares at the letters, a lifetime’s worth of letters, and he wonders if Peggy had anything to do with his father’s recorded message that helped him find the new core for his arc reactor, the notes and things his dad left behind with SHIELD, that came along right when he needed it.

 

“How much did you tell her?” Tony asks quietly.

 

Bruce hesitates and says, “I hope just enough.”

 

“I think maybe you did,” Tony replies.

 

~~~~~

 

In his apartment in the Tower, in his rather lonely bed, Steve picks up his own letter and reads it for the hundredth time.

 

A photograph lies on the bed beside him, a reminder of the scrawny kid from Brooklyn he’d been once, and in some ways still is.

 

And Peggy’s words echo through his mind, _Be the man I’ve always loved. I know that time can’t change that._

 

Steve smiles, and then he sleeps, deeply and without dreaming, content to know that he’s precisely where he’s meant to be.

 


End file.
